“No. Well, down our way,” with a chuckle, “we don’t have to inquire. Ask anybody you meet what his next door neighbor’s wuth, and he’ll tell you within a hundred, and how he got it, and how much he owes, and how he gets along with his wife. Ho! ho! Speakin’ of wives, is this Mr. Dunn married?”
He looked at his niece as he asked the question. There was no reason why Caroline should blush; she knew it, and hated herself for doing it.
“No,” she answered, resentfully, “he is not.”
“Um-hm. What’s his business?”
“He is connected with a produce exchange house, I believe.”
“One of the firm?”
“I don’t know. In New York we are not as well posted, or as curious, concerning our friends’ private affairs as your townspeople seem to be.”
“I guess that’s so. I imagine New Yorkers are too busy gettin’ it themselves to bother whether their neighbors have got it or not. Well,” he went on, rising, “I guess I’ve kept you young folks from your work or—or play, or whatever you was going to do, long enough for this once. I think I’ll go out for a spell. I’ve got an errand or two I want to do. What time do you have dinner?”
“We lunch at half past one,” answered Caroline.
“We dine at seven.”